


the resolved chord on 'you'

by SidewaysClarinet



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Borderline Personality Disorder, Codependency, I would say he's trying but he's not, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit Sex, Sex Addiction, Shima Renzou is a douchebag, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, throws in my bpd renzou headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidewaysClarinet/pseuds/SidewaysClarinet
Summary: Shima Renzou is a whirlwind of spikes, anger, and hurricane-wind tossed hailstones.Ryuji is trying to keep up. He really is.
Relationships: Shima Renzou/Suguro "Bon" Ryuuji
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	1. dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that this is my first BonShima fic JHFSDFHG i swear I'll give them a happy ending some day <3

“I’m gonna be leavin’ soon,” Renzou says, casually.

It’s over dinner when he does so, and they’re curled up under the kotatsu with the blanket tossed over both of their laps. It’s warm, the food is good, and Ryuji is fresh out of the shower with the tantalizing scent of his cologne melting into his skin. The silence between them hadn’t been a tense or unhappy one, just a present and familiar one. It’s happy, comfortable, and utterly domestic.

It’s why Renzou has to leave, of course. 

He takes a sip of the drink before him, some sort of alcoholic mix that Ryuji had picked up the talent of making. It’s sweet and burns down his throat; he can see Ryuji swallowing just out of the corner of his eye, and watches the other man try to fight down the furrow that takes to his heavy brow. 

“For how long?” Ryuji asks, tone even and neutral. There’s a coat before him, his exorcist coat, with a long tear down the sleeve that he’s fixing with a needle and thread. It’s just as familiar as the topic of conversation is—Renzou leaves Ryuji’s home rather frequently, and for longer and longer periods of time these days.

“I don’t know,” Renzou replies. He sets the drink down, and means his words. He never knows when he’ll come back, and never plans to. “Probably for a while.”

‘A while’ means many things. ‘A while’ means a handful of hours, or a handful of decades. Ryuji knows this, and Renzou knows this, too, and the other man’s hands falter on the next stitch.

“Is it for a mission?” he asks, instead.

“It’s because I hate you,” Renzou says. Casually. Tonelessly. “And living here. I won’t be coming back.”

Ryuji looks up, and he’s trying to play iit like a joke. He really is. “Never?”

“Never.”

“It’ll be lonely without you, y’know,” Ryuji tells him, after a second. The stitches are no longer linear and clean, and Renzou stares down at them. 

“I hope it is,” he says, and nothing else. He doesn’t want to talk anymore, and suddenly the scent of Ryuji’s cologne is sickening. It makes his stomach twist and his chest ache, and Renzou stands up suddenly. He snatches his drink off of the kotatsu and steps into the kitchen again, downing the alcohol and sweet coconut mixture until there’s nothing left. 

It burns the whole way down. Ryuji does not speak, and Renzou does not either.

He stands by the counter instead, watching Ryuji sew up the tear in his coat, and for a second, he wants to throw the glass. He wants to watch it shatter and tear and cut through Ryuji’s skin, wants to watch the blood bead up, wants to see him bite down the anger and silently clean up the shards while Renzou watches. 

Ryuji will never yell at him. He only ever buries the anger with that sickening, pathetic look of pity he gets whenever he looks at Renzou.

He hates Ryuji. He hates living here. He’s going to leave and he’s never going to come back.

“Do you want another drink?” Ryuji asks him, still looking down at the needle and thread.

“No,” Renzou says sharply.

He does not say anything when Renzou leaves the kitchen and instead retreats back into the bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind him. The TV is still on in the living room, and Renzou can hear the soft sounds of dialogue and music from it as the minutes pass, though he’s too busy trying to melt into the sheets to tell Ryuji to turn it off. Instead, he sits and simmers in rage and hatred and everything dark and disgusting.

Renzou will not miss this. He won’t miss Ryuji, or his cologne, or the sheets, or the quiet neighborhood and the coffee shop on the corner; he won’t miss it any more than he’ll miss it any other time he leaves. He will retreat back to the Illuminati and find Toudou, and drink until he can’t see straight and can’t think of anything other than that cheap vodka is just as good as the sweet, easy mixed drinks that Ryuji gives him with a smile and pride in his eyes. 

He blinks, and the sun has set, and the room is dark. Ryuji’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, where it runs up Renzou’s neck to his face, brushing hair out of his eyes. His fingertips are warm, and Renzou leans his head to the side just enough to press a kiss to Ryuji’s palm. He lays down another kiss, and a third one, sitting up in the bed just enough to trail feather-light touches of his lips up the paler skin of Ryuji’s forearm.

In the darkness, he can see the soft reflection of the street lights in Ryuji’s eyes. He cannot see the other man’s expression, but he can imagine it—wounded, laid bare, so vulnerable with hurt and longing that Renzou can’t imagine how he’s expected to do anything but dig his claws in so deep that there’s nothing left to divide them but the concept of  _ you  _ and  _ me.  _ He wants to make himself a part of Ryuji, so deeply entrenched that he can pull back and see the Renzou-shaped hole he leaves behind. He wants to watch it gape and bleed with his absence.

The feeling of scratchy goatee hair brushes up against him just before Ryuji’s lips do, and Ryuji breathes shakily when they part before kissing him again. Renzou drinks in the taste of Ryuji greedily, digging his hands into the other man’s hair to pull him closer, to pull out the begging, pleading cry of  _ please don’t go  _ that he knows Ryuji is just barely suppressing.

He wants to hear it, only so that he can laugh at it, dangle it in front to Ryuji’s eyes before he throws it into the trash. He doesn’t care if Ryuji wants him, or needs him.

he doesn’t.

really.

He doesn’t crave it like a starving man craves food. He doesn’t want it like lovers want each other’s touch after days apart. He doesn’t need it like he needs water, or alcohol, or the coldness of everyone’s glares when he leaves for the tenth, twentieth, hundredth time.

He likes the sex, though. Maybe the only benefit, he muses to himself. He likes lips on his neck and hands in his hair. He likes Ryuji’s deep, breathy moans. He likes the way Ryuji’s eyes spark with barely concealed hurt when Renzou tells him that his coworkers at the Illuminati fucked him better. There was one who could swallow down cocks as easily as air, and one who railed him until he cried, and another one who nearly pulled his hair out of his head, she gripped it so hard.

He likes it when that spurs Ryuji into possessiveness.

He doesn’t like it when that pushes Ryuji over the thin line into tenderness.

It pushes him into tenderness tonight.

Renzou hates the carefulness in Ryuji’s hands and the love in his palms when they run over the bare length of his chest, down to his hips, caressing him like he’s glass, like he’s vulnerable and fragile, like he’s worth the fucking effort. Renzou digs his nails into Ryuji’s shoulders when he kisses the other man’s neck, bites down hard enough to draw blood.

_ Hate me. _

Ryuji only becomes gentler at the treatment, holding him close like he actually cares if Renzou leaves.

_ Hit me. _

“I love you,” Ryuji breathes.

Renzou could kill him. “I hate you.”

Ryuji is even gentle when he fucks Renzou, as if it could even be called fucking. It’s tender, and loving, and disgusting. He’d complain more if it didn’t feel good, if the love he caught in Ryuji’s eyes in brief flashes of light from outside didn’t steal his breath so thoroughly, if Ryuji didn’t curl up into him in all the ways that made him gasp and groan.

It’s fucking missionary. 

Renzou shoves him off and away until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and Renzou is riding him; he has the reins, the pace, the power. It’s quick and dirty and impersonal, and he likes being leaned up over Ryuji like this.

He likes the parting of Ryuji’s lips when Renzou tilts his head back, and threads his hands around the other man’s throat like a threat written in flowing cursive and blood. Ryuji is on the verge of tears, and Renzou grins. 

“This is the last time you’ll see me,” he tells Ryuji, between panting and moaning. “Better, ngh, better make it good.”

The tears do spill over then, and Renzou licks them up, presses a toothy kiss to Ryuji’s eyelids. Even better yet, Ryuji finally caves, and fucks him the way he likes.

Hard, fast, unforgiving and demanding. Renzou _l_ _ oves  _ this; the way his mind goes blank, the way Ryuji shoves him to the bed and takes what he wants, what he needs. Between keening cries and the fever-hot warmth of finishing, he feels something wet hit his back. It could be sweat. It could be tears. He doesn’t care.

In the late hours of the night, they’re both still awake, but pretend that they’re not. The only break in the act is Ryuji’s nails, tracing gentle lines across Renzou’s back. Renzou’s eyes are wet. He blinks, and when that doesn’t work, he buries his face into the pillow beneath his head instead. 

“I wish I’d never met you,” he says, muffled, into the fabric.

“I’m glad I met you.” Ryuji presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Every day.”

“You’re not,” Renzou hisses. “Don’t lie. That won’t make me stay.”

“I know.”

He says it with resignation, and with disappointment, and with a little bit of longing. The longing is decreasing bit by bit, every time Renzou leaves, and one day, it will be gone completely. Renzou hopes that he’ll be dead by the time that happens.

“But you can always come back.”

“I won’t.”

“This will always be your home.”

“I’d rather die than see you again.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“You’re suffocating.”

And he is. Ryuji is smothering—everything about him. He is pervasive, and invasive, and sticks to Renzou like glue. No matter what he does, or where he goes, or who he hurts; Ryuji is there, with a soft smile and a patient ear and a warm home that Renzou doesn’t need, he doesn’t.

When he picks up his clothes, long after Ryuji has finally gone to sleep, he hears a jingling noise in the pocket of his pants. He pulls his jeans on and reaches into the pocket, and his eyes widen at the feeling of a key. He grabs onto it and pulls it out of his pocket, and his arm is tensed to throw it away.

He doesn’t.

Of course. 


	2. tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I ended up deciding to continue this in the end, lol!

Renzou’s barely two hours into his return to the Illuminati before he finds somebody new to distract him from the weight of the key in his pocket. 

That someone comes in the form of a faceless coworker who he’d talked to all of maybe six times, but what’s important isn’t the identity; it’s the way he obeys Renzou’s wordless commands without question. He shoves a hand down Renzou’s pants, bites harsh marks into his neck, doesn’t protest when Renzou palms his ass and debates what he wants first. They’re no better than horny teenagers, but at least the feeling of something in his mouth and down his throat will get his mind off of brown eyes and sad smiles.

Well, it theoretically would have, if Homare hadn’t interrupted them. He would feel guilty about being caught in the act (and the other man clearly is, judging by the red-hot flush on his cheeks), but Homare has seen him doing much worse—in terms of both people  _ and _ activities. He only rolls his eyes and shoves the man away, watching his potential hour of therapy scramble down the hallway like the devil is at his heels.

“I kinda liked that one,” he says, a little put out. 

“Don’t blame me,” Homare mutters. The sharpness of her voice used to be much more present, when he was younger and could still carry their expectations, but now it had dulled into something mildly annoyed and much more disappointed. That was fine. They needed him more than they detested his behavior, which was fine in the end. “If you had been fulfilling your missions as expected, then I would have no need to come hunt you down like this.”

“What’s the problem this time?” he asks, crossing his arms. 

She raises an eyebrow at his attitude, but evidently it isn’t bad enough for her to reprimand him. Either that, or she just doesn’t have the energy to anymore. It’s not like he cares, really.

“If you weren’t going to use it, we wouldn’t have expended the money on a residence for you,” Homare says, frowning. “It’s a drain on our resources. You know that.”

“I do use it, sometimes,” he insists.

“You don’t.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, and so he reluctantly accepts it. “And given your current uselessness in ferreting information, we’re hardly inclined to continue paying for it. You’re not worth the waste, Shima-san.”

Renzou tenses, and irritation spikes up red-hot in his chest. “Then cut me loose.”

“Do you even realize how close we are to it?” she snaps, and he recoils at the utter vehemence behind it. “We already have you  _ replaced!  _ If it’s a termination that you want so bad, then forget being on a slippery slope towards it! You’re already there!”

“Replaced?” he echoes, eyes wide. Whether anyone knew it or not, his laziness in turning out information for the Illuminati had been very much intentional. He gives them what he sees fit and what he sees as safe, and if someone were to be taking over his role… “Who?”

Homare glares up at him, but her anger is already reigning in. “A woman by the name of Oyama Hideko. She’s working under Suguro Ryuji’s mother, currently, and is more than fit to take your position.”

Maybe she’s hoping that the threat will motivate him to start carrying his weight, but of course he sees through it. It’s not the warning that makes his blood run cold; no, it’s the thought that someone else is in the Myo Dha. Not some second-rate, spy-only-by-name like himself. If it’s an Illuminati employee, then they’re there to figure out secrets—not to play games.There’s no telling what they know about the Myo Dha, about their exorcists-

About Ryuji.

He doesn’t wait to be dismissed, nor does he even give her a goodbye. There’s a static buzzing in his mind that drowns everything else out save for the weight of the key in his pocket. Oh, he’ll be using it alright. Surely not in the way that Ryuji had intended, but it was the only way he’d ever let himself be caught dead with the other man again. 

He hates Ryuji. He’s going to kill the other man himself, and the whole fucking Myo Dha. 

He’ll start with the spy first.

The key is one that leads directly to the Myo Dha, and he doesn’t want to think about what strings Ryuji had to pull to get one from Mephisto. He loves Ryuji so much that it hurts, it tears his chest open and his eyes tear up and he swipes the tears away furiously. He can’t think past the static in his ears and the monks and Myo Dha members that surround him at his entrance.

He drops the key to the ground, and shoves people out of his way when they try to pull him aside. He recognizes Juuzou, whose eyes go cold at the sight of Renzou, and he opens his mouth to say something.

“Oyama,” Renzou interrupts. “Oyama Hideko. Where is she?”

“Renzou-” Juuzou starts, sighing. He goes silent very quickly when Renzou’s khakkara materializes into his hand, and the flaming, sharp tip levels beneath his older brother’s chin at his throat. 

“Where is she?” he grinds out, again.

Juuzou says nothing, but his eyes flicker up to the attic, unintentionally. Renzou lowers the khakkara and shoves past the other man, already on the warpath to where he knows the mole is now. The stairs are loud and announce his arrival seconds in advance. When he makes it to the attic, the woman is already looking at him, smiling through a clearly false veil of friendliness.

“Can I help-”

Whatever she’s about to say is interrupted by the harsh steel sliding through her throat. Renzou doesn’t wait to see her reaction—barely a breath later, Yamantaka is roaring forward, eagerly eating up what little remains of her soul. He watches her body fall to the floor. He wishes she would have struggled more, because energy still burns like electricity beneath his skin.

“Renzou?”

Renzou turns at the sound of a familiar voice, and finds a suitable new target in Ryuji. He’s blocking the door, tall and broad enough that curious eyes aren’t able to see over his shoulders into the attic. Renzou can even hear Juuzou ushering them away.

“What-” the other man pauses, swallows, and looks up from the body. “What was that?”

“She was a spy,” Renzou says, lowly. “You didn’t even know, did you? She could’ve killed you and you wouldn’t have even known if it weren’t for me. It’s fucking pathetic, how much you rely on me.”

Something in Ryuji’s expression softens, and he smiles a bit wryly, despite everything. “I coulda told you that. Didn’t need to kill the poor woman.”

“Did you not hear me? She could’ve killed you!” he snaps.

“Thank you,” Ryuji says. He holds a hand out, steps away from the door, and Renzou flinches back. He doesn’t want to be touched right now. He wants to crawl out of his skin and die. “Set the khakkara down, okay? We’re safe now.”

“No!” He only grips it tighter and points the still-flaming tip towards Ryuji. “I’m not staying. I’m leavin’. I meant it, I’m not comin’ back.”

“Why?” Ryuji asks, simply.

It’s one word, but it makes him freeze.

Why? Why is he leaving? Why isn’t he coming back?

“You can stay, y’know,” the other man says, softly. “You can stay with me. Ya have a place here, always. We can just go home.”

“No, we can’t!” he insists. Every breath feels like ice in his lungs, and his skin feels fever hot, and he’s sure that he’s dying. He has to be dying, he feels like he’s dying. “I can’t-” The khakkara clangs down onto the floor, and he grips his hair instead. “I’m going insane. I’m fucking losing it!”

As soon as his fingers grip tight, Ryuji is there, crossing the room in a few swift steps to gently but firmly pull his hands free. The touch sets his skin on fire, and he levels a glare at Ryuji, baring his teeth furiously. 

“Let me  _ go!” _

Ryuji’s grip loosens a bit, but doesn’t release, no matter how roughly Renzou tries to pull his hands free. “You’re freakin’ out, alright? I don’t want ya to hurt yourself. I’ll letcha go when you take a breath.”

“I don’t need you to baby me,” he says, vehemently.

“I’m not babyin’ you,” Ryuji assures him. “Just tryin’ to help, okay? Tell me what’s goin’ on. Talk to me, Renzou.”

“I can’t, I have- I have to leave, I have to go.”

“Why? For what? Do you have to leave, or are you runnin’?” Renzou feels himself freeze at the question, and it must give the other man encouragement, because Ryuji’s hands slide up from his wrists to his biceps to hold him closer. “What are you runnin’ from? What’s scarin’ ya?”

“You,” Renzou blurts out. He regrets it immediately. 

Ryuji’s eyes widen, and all at once, he lets Renzou go. He takes a step back, and all it does is confirm that Renzou has made a mistake. He’s fucked up, he’s said the wrong thing, and now Ryuji is going to leave him just like he knew the other man would. 

“It’s you,” he repeats, voice cracking and on the verge of tears. He can’t possibly fuck this up any more, anyways. “I love you, and I need you, and- and I don’t- I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave me.”

“When I-” Ryuji’s eyes somehow widen even further. “Renzou, I…”

He braces himself for it, subconsciously. He’s been waiting for it for years, ever since he’d betrayed Ryuji and the Order the first time for the Illuminati. Everyone else already has, and Ryuji is long overdue. 

Instead of saying what he knows is coming, Ryuji instead reaches his hand down to his pocket. Renzou watches him, tense, as he draws something out of it. Ryuji holds it up before him, and it’s then that Renzou realizes what it is; it’s a box, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of it.

He can’t seriously mean…?

“I know this couldn’t be a worse time,” Ryuji laughs, more than a little sheepish. “And I’m not- well, I guess I kinda am, um, askin’ you, but point is, y’know… I was gonna ask ya, next time you came.”

“You want me to marry you?” Renzou asks, quiet with disbelief.

The other man nods, still a bit flushed at the cheeks but entirely serious. “I do. I love you. Always have, always will. I’m not leavin’ ya now, and I never will, if you’ll let me.”

He steps forward, slowly, like he’s approaching some sort of wild animal. He opens the box and takes the ring out, setting it back in his pocket before reaching out to take Renzou’s hand up. Renzou feels frozen in place as the ring is slid onto his finger, and after a few seconds, he looks down at it.

It’s a band of gold, nothing truly fancy, but the minimalism is what he prefers. There’s a scattering of soft, but vibrantly red jewels inlaid into the metal, and when he looks up again, he sees the same set of jewels in Ryuji’s variety of earrings.

They’re matching.

“It’s just an engagement ring,” Ryuji says, a bit apologetically. “But I, uh. I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

It’s then that he recalls a night from weeks ago, before the last time he’d left. Ryuji had been fiddling with his fingers for hours, fixating on his ring finger. He had brushed it off at the time, but it wasn’t even the first time Ryuji had hinted at marriage, was it? He remembers blurry discussions of ring color preferences, and the Myo Dha’s loose definitions of marriage, and even last names.

The conversations stretched over years, ever since they had graduated and marriage was a thing to talk about. 

“I…” His mouth is suddenly dry, and realization falls over him like water. “I’m so stupid.”

Ryuji shakes his head immediately, reaching a hand up to cup Renzou’s cheek. “No,” he says, firmly. “You’re… you’re hurtin’. Ya need help, and we can get it for ya.”

“Do I even deserve it?” he can’t help but ask. The dam had broken and now everything is coming back—the insults, the meanness, everything he’s ever done. How could he have been so stupid? He’s been selfish, and cruel, and mean, and-

Something is wrong with him. Something is very, very wrong with him and the enormity of it feels suffocating. Ryuji’s hand is grounding but he still feels as if the riptide is only seconds from pulling him under.

“It ain’t about deserve,” Ryuji insists. He presses a lingering kiss to Renzou’s forehead before he continues. “We’ll getcha the best. I promise.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t even know  _ what _ to say. The floor beneath him has given out, and his energy is gone.

When he finally cries, even he isn’t sure if it’s from relief or regret.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms are always appreciated!


End file.
